“Yes, and afore they caught him he joined the Skeleton Crew, but was afterwards gibbeted; but that didn’t seem to concern him much, for they say he can get out at certain times and seasons, and goes on the spree.” “On the spree! What! a sperit goo on the spree, Maister Nettles?” “So they say; but I can never believe it, nor will I until I sees it with my own eyes.” The conversation of Nettles with the village barber so much interested the open-mouthed villagers, that many lounged into the little shop to hear it. This arose from the fact that all felt greatly interested in listening to his narrative of the brave and heroic exploits of young Warbeck on sea and land, and especially interesting at the present time, since it was whispered that old Sir Richard Warbeck at the Hall was in deep grief through the sad disgrace which Charley, Ned’s elder brother, had fallen into lately in London. The sudden disappearance of the miller’s daughter, the horrible murder of her rustic lover, the escape of Bob Bertram from prison, and the half strangulation of the sexton, parish clerk, and others in the belfry by the Skeleton Crew, all tended to heighten the interest of any remarks old Nettles might make. This was more so when it was well known that the old tavern-keeper had actually fought a battle with the terrible Death-wing and his gang, With staring eyes and open mouths, they listened to Nettles, who gratified his audience with most alarming stories of the Skeleton Crew, so much so as to make many of them tremble in their shoes. It was now Nettles “turn” to be shaved. He sat in the chair, and a small boy placed a napkin under his chin. Yet all the while he was laughing at the villagers about their childish hobgoblin notions regarding the Skeleton Crew. They in turn began to laugh also, until the shop re-echoed with their boisterous merriment. When the barber’s boy, lather-box and brush in hand, had half “soaped” Mr. Nettles, he gave a sudden shout of alarm and dropped his utensils on the floor. His hair stood on end with fright, and he trembled violently in every limb. And well he might. He cried for help. But the barber and his audience rushed out of the shop yelling like lunatics at the sight they saw, leaving Nettles and the boy alone. How it happened no one could imagine. But while the valiant Nettles was discoursing about and jeering the many stories about Death-wing’s gang—— A skeleton appeared, razor in hand, and seized Nettles by the hair of his head! Beside him, and grinning most horribly, stood the black spectre of the Red Man of the Gibbet, sharpening a razor on a strop attached to the wall (see Engraving in No. 7), and preparing to shave his enemy, old Nettles, the terrified tavern keeper. More dead than alive, Nettles shook in every limb. The barber’s boy collapsed all of a heap upon the floor, and was howling like a mad dog. “Shave him!” said the black spectre, in sepulchral tones.